


Falling (onto you)

by eliotkeats



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9001810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliotkeats/pseuds/eliotkeats
Summary: It's been one of those days.





	

The sounds of early morning Marielda echo through the stone arches as Aubrey runs, her sandals clacking loudly on the stone tiles — horses and carts clattering over cobblestones, merchants opening shop, the strident tones of children in the street mingling with gruffer adult voices, and — of course — the shouts of Aubrey’s pursuers.

It’s just been one of those days.    

Aubrey’s sandals clack loudly on the stone tiles as she runs, hugging the cloth-bound tome to her chest.  The toe of her sandal flaps loose and snags under a tile’s uneven edge, sending her sprawling.  The book lands with a dull thud where she drops it.  It doesn’t even have the decency to skid, bounce, or land face-down.  Pushing the brim of her borrowed straw hat back from where it’s tipped over her eyes, Aubrey takes a moment to assess her situation.  No one had told her the book was going to weigh as much as a sack of bricks.  Seriously, they should have sent Sige in for this thing.  The shouts behind her grow louder, and she looks over her shoulder and sees the guards rounding the stone columns into the garden, pointing as they spot her.  

Aubrey scowls, picks herself up, and grapples the book to her chest with an annoyed huff.  At least she is nearing the end of the colonnade.  

Across her, beyond the balcony, growing rapidly closer as she stagger-runs, and past the twisted branches of an oak tree, she can see the boarded up windows of the vacant house opposite.  Several boards on the left swing very slightly in the breeze; the only sign of Ethan’s work, prying the nails free so they’d be able to set up a spy nest in the abandoned building and do surveillance.  

Ten yards and counting.  Time for the penultimate part of her most recent plan (plans A through E having already been scrapped; it has _not_ been a very good day).  So Plan Eff it is.  

Aubrey sucks in a deep breath and starts shrieking at the top of her lungs.  “SIGE.  SIGE, GODSDAMMIT, YOU’D BETTER BE READY.”  Her voice rings out deafeningly loud in the colonnade, and the guards behind her falter for a second before recovering.  

Aubrey collides with the stone balustrade surrounding the balcony hard enough to wind her, and spares a moment to peek over the edge.  A horse-drawn cart waits in the street below.  She has enough time to see the crown of Castille’s hat, Edmund’s upturned, worried face, and Sige, standing in the back of the cart, one hand on the butt of his pistol, before she yells, “Catch!” and heaves the book over the railing.  Without even waiting to see if Sige catches it, she hoists herself onto the balustrade and jumps, just as the guards lunge for her.  

Okay, so it wasn’t a particularly  _ good  _ plan.  

It’s only three stories down, and she has time to think exactly one thought per story as she falls.  

_ Shit _ ,

_ Shit _ , 

and,  _ Sige _ .

She slams into Sige and is immediately knocked breathless, black blotches exploding across her vision as she wheezes for breath.  Sige tosses the book to Castille and yells something at Edmund that sounds like  _ drive,  _ although she’s having trouble hearing; her ears are ringing, and also she’s squashed against Sige’s pecs, which is a unique experience.  Probably be better if she could  _ breathe _ .  She pushes at Sige’s chest blindly.  

Sige drops to the straw strewn bottom of the cart as Edmund chirps something at the horse, and the cart jerks into motion.  Canvas rustles as Sige drags the tarpaulin up to conceal the two of them.  When he releases Aubrey, he slides her far enough from him that he can get a good look at her.  

“Hey.  Hey, Aubrey.  Are you okay?”  

Aubrey spits out pale pink saliva and makes a face.  

“Aubrey?” Sige asks, tone growing more worried.  

“I bith my tongue,” she explains.

Sige swears and lets his head fall back against the boards.  A split second later, the cart jolts through a pothole and he’s jarred semi-upright.  He braces his elbow against a half-full sack of grain or some shit, and gives Aubrey a patented Sige Colburn look.  “We had a plan.  It didn’t involve jumping out third story windows.”

“I  _ mean _ ,” Aubrey says.  She sticks her tongue out and gingerly feels the tips, wincing a little.  Plans change?  They usually go to crap after the first, like ten minutes; especially ours — no offense, Sige.  It’s kind of our trademark at this point.”  She grins and reaches out to punch Sige in the shoulder — well, upper arm region, because short reach.  “But hey, we got the book.”  

Sige closes his eyes and rubs a hand over the scruff on his chin.  “Yeah, we did.”  

“Job’s over!”  She wiggles backwards until she’s popped against an empty crate.  “Hey, maybe you’ll have time to shave now.”  Absently scratching around her ear, she muses aloud, “I could definitely go for a back and foot massage after that one.”

Sige’s eyebrows shoot up.  “You’re on your own for that, buddy.  And by the way, if I find gray hairs while shaving, I’ll know who to blame.  Don’t pull a stunt like that again; at least not without consulting the rest of us before.”

Aubrey smirks and settles back against her crate, eying the dirty-white canvas, corners anchored down prior to this morning’s expedition, bouncing over them as the cart jostles through the city streets.  “Hey,” she says.  “I knew you’d catch me.”


End file.
